


Deserted Island

by gala_apples



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-02
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 22:25:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A late night conversation prompts an interesting suggestion from John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deserted Island

For the most part, lights are off at 11:30. One of the teachers, usually Scott or Storm, will walk the hallways, and knock on the doors with the lights still on. If they have a justifiable reason, like homework left too late, or just one more chapter in this new book please, the lights can stay on. Otherwise the lights are supposed to be off. Of course you could turn them back on as soon as the teacher was further down the hall, but that seemed disrespectful. And for the most part, the teachers were respected, so their rules were followed.

There were obvious exceptions. Steve didn't sleep, ever, so he was allowed to stay up all night playing video games or watching television. Some kids were insomniacs, and took hours to fall asleep past lights off. And if a child got up with a nightmare and turned the lights on, there was no problem. 

But in general, the lights were off at 11:30. Or earlier, if the student actually took responsibility and knew they had to get a better sleep for classes the next day. It was hoped by the teachers that the more mundane responsibility they took, the more extraordinary responsibilities they were prepared for. A relaxed curfew was just another step in making junior X-Men.

John didn't need much sleep, and Bobby didn't need anything more than he needed John. So John would talk after 11:30, fully expecting Bobby to respond. And he would, no matter how late, because the other option was for John to not talk to him at all. John was easily ruffled, and Bobby hated to get him in a snit.

It had been awhile, and Bobby was nearly out. He was in the range where you could still hear and think, but your limbs felt locked down. He heard a question from across the room, and took a second to shake his head and jolt himself further awake. Blearily he opened an eye, squinting against the harsh red glow of his alarm clock. 2:45 am. Fuck. Not for the first time, Bobby thought that it seemed cruel to room the insomniacs with the normal sleepers.

"What?" he asked.

"I said, if you were on a desert island, what would you bring?"

"Uh..." he thought for a second. "How desert is the island?"

"Oh. You mean in terms of supplies. Okay, assume you have a steady source of food. Plantains or wild boar or something. Also, that you have some way to filter water, so you're not going to die of thirst."

"John, I'm Iceman. I'll just make a few snowballs and wait for them to melt."

"True. And I'm Pyro, so I can get the salty water, set up a tarp, heat the water, let it steam and condense, and drip into preset containers. We all have our powers, so don't be all show offy."

"I wasn't. I'm just saying..."

"And I'm just saying, don't be a show-off. So what would you bring?"

He thought of all the things he'd miss. There'd be no forms of entertainment, it would get boring quickly. Maybe a deck of cards? But then, he should probably be practical and take something he'd need. Like a pot for cooking the wild boar after he tracked it and killed it with an ice spear. Or hell, matches would be important for a fire. He had to assume he was getting stranded by himself, not with John.

But what would happen if he had some sort of fucked up accident? Fell out of a tree when he was trying to gather coconuts? "I guess I'd have to take Tylenol. The heavy stuff, the codeine stuff."

"Makes sense, it would fucking suck to get a headache and have nothing to deal with it with." John fell silent, but now Bobby was curious.

"What would you bring? If you were stuck. Same conditions apply, there's food, you can make clean water, there's probably some sort of shelter with all the trees. What would you want, above all else?"

"If we're sticking with objects, then it's obvious."

Oh! It had never occurred to Bobby to take along another person. That was probably a good way to go, especially if they were a mutant. They could provide entertainment and companionship, so he wouldn't go insane like that guy in that movie that talked to that ball. Their power too, might be a useful tool on an island.

"It's not that obvious, I have no idea what you would bring."

"I would bring lube. Duh. Could you imagine being stranded with nothing to do all day, and not be able to jerk off? For that matter, not be able to jerk off ever again, until you got rescued? How would that look, the second you got on the helicopter, pulling out your pud and going at it right in front of the flier? Nah, just do it on the island."

John's made some very good points, but Bobby still can't imagine getting off being the most important thing in your life. So important, that if you can only have one object for a very long time, it would be something to help you get off. Of course, lubrication begs the question of what do you need it for?

"So, if you had this non stop collection of lube, and all the time in the world, what would you do? I mean you're on an island. I'm hoping you wouldn't find the wild boars hot enough to need to jerk off."

"Don't be a moron. It's called imagination. All you have to do is think of a few sexy girls, a few sexy boys, and you're golden to sail off for Planet Orgasm."

"Right." Bobby affirmed. Then he reviewed what John had just said. "Sexy boys?"

"Yeah. I mean, there's only so many times you can see a pair of tits before wanting something a little different. Right?"

"Uh..." John's gay? How could he have not known?

"I'm not gay. I just think that a person should have variety. You're trying to tell me you've never thought about how a guy's hand would feel around your dick? Not once? _Ever_?"

Crap. He had to tell the truth. John could smell bullshit from a mile away. "Not until now, no. But now that you're talking about it..."

"So now that you're thinking about it, what do you think?" 

Bobby would give anything to be able to see John's face right now. The room is pitch black except for the small red glow of the digital clock by either bed. Not nearly enough to enable Bobby to see whether or not John is cracking up right now. That's a definite possibility, that this is a trap to make Bobby embarrass himself. On the other hand, John's going to be pissed if he doesn't answer, and even more pissed if he lies. John doesn't mind bold-faced bullshit during the day, from anyone and everyone. But at night, these discussions? They have to be truthful, or John doesn't talk to him for days at a time.

"I dunno. I don't think it would be too bad. Maybe better, 'cause guys' hands are bigger and it could grab more? I dunno." The bright side to not being able to see John's face was that John couldn't see his. He was blushing like a demon caught picking flowers. 

"You wanna try it?" Bobby's first instinct was to faint. Luckily he quickly moved beyond that, and maintained alertness. John was waiting for an answer, so Bobby tried to figure out what the hell was going on. Was John really offering what it sounded like he was offering? It was hard to believe that John was playing a joke on him. Not this late, not during their honest talk times. 

"It's not that hard a question, Bobs. It doesn't mean anything, either way." John must be reading his mind, understanding some of his concerns.

How could it not mean anything? It had to mean that he's gay, right? If he wanted to be touched by a guy? But he knew as well as he knew ice that John wouldn't hurt him, John wouldn't out him to others. "Yeah. I wanna try."

He couldn't see anything, but he could hear the rustle of John getting out of his blankets. He could hear a rasping shuffle, which he was sure was John's feet along the rug between their beds. He could hear the squeals of the mattress springs as John moved onto his bed. 

Bobby hissed in reflex as the blankets flew off his body, leaving him nearly nude and cold in the night air. He could hear John chuckle, and then all his other senses died as touch exploded into first place. John's hand was on his dick. Somehow it had wriggled between the elastic of his sweatpants without his notice. But Bobby didn't care about the logistics, he only cared that there was a _hand_ not his own on his _dick_.

It was warm. That was the most important thing about the hand, was that it was ridiculously warm. John always seemed too warm to him, and his slender fingers were no exception. Bobby let out a groan into the silence of the room as John squeezed his fingers, grabbing him tightly. That was all it took for Bobby to get fully hard, a quick squeeze of his roommate's fingers. It was nearly embarrassing how easy it was. Bobby could only pray that he wouldn't orgasm as easily. He had his pride, damn it.

John's hand slipped off his cock and out of his shorts. He couldn't control the whine that came out in reaction to the loss, though he blushed in the darkness.

"It's dark enough that you can pretend I'm a girl if you need to." They were the only words spoken before John made a disgusting hocking noise. This time Bobby was fully aware of the elastic being stretched, and waited in anticipation for the few seconds it took John to touch him. John's hand was wet, and Bobby suddenly understood John's want of buckets of lubrication on a deserted island. It made touching so much nicer.

When John started jerking his arm, it was all Bobby could do to not pass out. At the very least, his eyes rolled to the back of his head. It was possible he might have shouted curses, but he wasn't listening to himself. He was listening to the creak of the bed, he was listening to slick noises John was making. He knew rationally that all the same sounds occurred when he masturbated alone, but that didn't matter. He wasn't alone, someone was touching him. _John_ was touching him. His closed eyes started to paint a picture of John, naked. Both of them, naked, jerking each other off. With next to no warning, passion raced through his veins and he came shooting over John's hand and his stomach.

"Sorry," he muttered sheepishly. To be done so soon, and the image that had caused it. Pathetic, all of it.

"Sorry for what? Don't be an idiot. The point of jerking off is to shoot your load. I jerked you off, and you shot. B follows A, Bobs."

He felt what seemed like kleenex rubbing the smear of come off his stomach. Bobby wondered if that was jerking off etiquette, but knew he'd rather slit his wrists then ask. The mattress creaked one last time, John's weight leaving the bed. The rasping shuffle of John going back to his bed, the rustle of pulling his blankets back on.

He wondered if there was a way to tell John he didn't have to pretend he was a girl without sounding gay.


End file.
